Explosive
by Mooncombo
Summary: The explosive side of Tony and Ziva. Ficlets written for the No Safety Pin Challenge on LiveJournal.
1. Mexico

This was inspired by LittleSammy's new no_safety_pin community on Live Journal (seriously, go check it out). Ficlets and ramblings based on Shane Brennan's comment regarding Tiva: "It's like juggling a grenade while trying to put the pin back in."

Since I absolutely love the idea of writing fic in which Tiva goes boom, I imagine that I will continue to write such stories...

Rated T, but let me know if you think the rating should be M.

Disclaimer: Not mine

* * *

They aren't yelling.

The paper thin walls of the run down hotel conceal nothing and thus they toss out accusations and blame in fierce whispers and a flurry of over animated limbs.

_Ziva, why are you here?_

She shouldn't be here, he insists.

She gives as good as she gets and argues that he has no more reason to be south of the border than she.

Turning away from his angry glare, the sound of their mutual harsh breathing fills the tiny room as she assaults her back pack and rips through its contents until strong hands clamp down upon her shoulders.

She spins under his grip and his mouth crashes down on hers with enough force to momentarily leave her stunned.

In an explosion of anger, fear and adrenaline, they devour one another. Clothing becomes scarce and somehow they find themselves sprawled sideways across the bed in a squirming tangle.

His mouth does not leave hers as he sinks himself deeply inside of her body. She whimpers against his lips but arches beneath him, her need as strong as his.

It's not soft and it's not sweet. It is two forces kept apart for too long suddenly colliding in a frenzy of barely contained emotion and want. Bruising, intense and _painful._

And just as she is about to slide over the edge, he stills and presses her into the mattress asking the question again.

_Ziva, why are you here?_

She bites her lip, the white lights of bliss beckoning from the periphery of her mind.

_Couldn't live without you, I guess._

He pulls the pin, tosses the grenade and slips into the explosion.

* * *

Thank you for reading...


	2. Sniper

Thank you to LittleSammy and Lou C for leaving food out for my muse and creating the no safety pin community on LJ.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Maybe next year.

* * *

Her heart thumps in her chest; a low, dull thud that keeps time and records the seconds.

The murky blanket of night presses down, suffocating her as she keeps vigil through the telescopic sight of her rifle.

She counts moments, seconds.

Counts breaths.

His breath and hers.

Keeping time, she wills him to breathe. Wills his heart to keep beating.

She can see him through the sight. Badly bruised and his arms and legs bound with splintery rope to a thick wooden chair, his face is colored with dark clouds of pooling blood.

Her breath catches in her throat and her heart skips a beat.

But she waits.

She waits for the cue but none comes as the shot is not clear and the target is unknowingly protected by a wounded human shield.

All in black, she keeps position with her stomach pressed against the pavement still bearing heat from an overly warm summer sun. Sweat trickles along her brow, but she does not move.

_Tony._

And then the moment comes.

A split second in time. She doesn't wait for the cue, she can't.

The shot is there and she takes it.

A bullet, _her bullet_, slashes through its intended target immediately prior to Gibbs's voice whispering _Go!_ into her earpiece. She watches just long enough to see him fall.

And then she is running with her pulse hammering and the sound of her own breath filling her ears.

Dimly aware of the voice barking orders to wait directly into her brain, she claws at the device crammed into her ear and yanks it free.

She is upon him, a whirlwind of tightly coiled energy sliding to her knees and pulling free the knife concealed at her waist in one fluid movement. She whispers his name urgently as she frantically cuts through the rope, careful to avoid his torn flesh.

The bindings give and she yanks his hands desperately as some cosmic force intervenes and a jolt of adrenaline pumps through his veins allowing him to assist in his own rescue.

A blink, a breath and a heartbeat and they are through the threshold as the building collapses in on itself in a fiery crush of shrapnel and debris.

Glowing embers rain down around them and they breathe once more.

* * *

Thank you for reading...


	3. Catalyst

**Another ficlet for the no-safety-pin challenge on LiveJournal. The idea was to think outside of the box and go beyond fluff and romance... so here goes.**

**Disclaimer: not mine...**

**I still haven't changed the rating... this chapter could be considered M. **

* * *

It starts as a joke.

Simple teasing, nothing more than what they do every day. But somehow something escalates and suddenly they are no longer playing. He doesn't miss the flash of emotion clouding her eyes before she shuts down entirely and focuses all of her attention on her computer monitor.

And because he can't leave well enough alone, he pushes at her.

He's in her way, in her space, in her mind. An increasing sense of claustrophobia begins to settle around her like a wet suffocating cloak as he continues to stalk her like prey.

Pushing and prodding and poking and _God, why won't he shut the hell up_?

But he can't stop himself from taunting her. He needs a reaction, something - _anything_ - to prove to himself that he can still get to her. That he still _knows_ her.

Finally, _finally_, she blinks and goes incredibly still, her hands utterly frozen in that unsettling way of hers. And he knows the precise instant that she begins ticking like a bomb ready to detonate.

His eyes bore into hers from behind his desk and he can't help the grim sense of satisfaction in this small victory. He sits back and waits for the explosion.

But it never comes.

Until later.

* * *

He's hardly surprised when she arrives at his apartment well into the night. Pushing past him without preamble, she looks him up and down and her eyes carry a dangerous glitter he hasn't seen in a long time. He wonders briefly if it is still possible to jam the pin back into the grenade he's thrown in her direction.

But he's sort of too tired to care. Too tired, too angry, too something he can't quite define.

They never make it to his bedroom. She pulls the clothing from her body quickly and methodically while he mimics her actions with much less certainty.

And then she is on him, pushing him to the carpet, riding him, taking _him_. There's no foreplay, and it's rough and hard and it _hurts_ and she's just not sure who she is punishing; him or herself. But his body reacts, just like hers, and she presses on, faster and harder, desperately trying to get out of her own head.

And because this is going in a direction he never intended, he grips her hip with one hand and reaches for her shoulder with the other trying to slow her down, catch her eye and make sense of what is happening.

But it's too late. The ticking in her mind comes to a screeching halt as she implodes, her face twisting into something dark as she comes. It's too much, too fast, too encompassing and he can't hold himself back, either. His arms snake around her body, dragging her against his chest as he offers a few final thrusts before following her over the edge.

He groans and clutches her tightly against him for a moment before releasing her. He doesn't attempt to stop her as she rolls off of him while he catches his breath.

She's already slipped back into her pants and is pulling on her shirt when it registers with him that she is leaving.

He would ask her where she is going, but he already knows the answer.

He's on his feet in an instant, grabbing for her, because he just can't let her leave. Not like this.

He feels her slipping away and this isn't _at all _what he intended, so he holds on to her knowing that she can feel the desperation beginning to clog his chest. Placing a palm against his cheek, she kisses him for the first time that evening. Soft, tender and sad.

"I'm sorry," she whispers against his mouth, "I just can't."

And then she is gone and all that is left is shrapnel.

* * *

**A/N: I'm thinking of writing a second chapter to this ficlet or expanding this into a longer one-shot… I just need to figure out in what direction I want to go. Feedback is much appreciated on this one, folks! Thank you for reading.**


	4. And It's Getting Dark

**Written for the following No Safety Pin challenge prompt on LiveJournal:**

Shoulder to shoulder in a race headed back to the start

My feet bleeding, heavy breathing from running so hard

I hear them dogs in the distance starting to bark

And its getting dark

* * *

He chases after her, gun drawn, eyes straining against the glare as they race directly west toward the setting sun. She keeps a steady pace, sure footed and light, as they round the corner, their intended target at least twenty yards in the distance. He remembers suddenly why he always runs with his iPod; it drowns out the sound of labored breaths forced from lungs that are far from whole.

Her stride catches for an instant as his lengthens and they run shoulder to shoulder, perfectly in sync, perfectly in tune and perfectly in time. Just like they've always done, like it has always been.

Later, she'll tease him when he whines about the bloody rub on his heel from expensive leather shoes that are, quite frankly, far from practical when it comes to chasing perps. Later, when he complains of silly things and makes lame jokes to ease the sadness. Later, when the ache still burns and the nerves are still raw. Later, in the dark and in private she'll ease his shaking with calm hands and smooth lips. But she'll never imply he can't keep up, nor have her six, nor pull his weight. She'll never say he had any other choice.

She nods slightly and he veers left while she turns right. They circle their prey as he darts like a crazed rabbit through the shabby streets of this rundown neighborhood. He can only imagine and she knows all too well, the horrors of war that can force a decorated marine to snap. Nearly feral dogs bark and claw at chain link fencing as they sprint on by, chasing prey of their own. He's always been one to appreciate irony.

Racing back to the start, they come full circle as their target runs directly into the trap. A gun waves in an unsteady hand in a last attempt to ward them off, but they hold steady; weapons drawn, breath heavy from running too long, too fast.

She orders the marine to drop his weapon, gives him the chance to save his own life. Pleads with him, reminds him that there's a little girl that wants to see him alive. He wavers, and for a moment, his eyes are clear and his stance falters. This is the part, Tony thinks, this is the part where they save the day and reunite a little girl with her broken father. This is the part where the credits roll against the backdrop of an orange setting sun.

But Ziva knows better. In a mere heartbeat, she drops to one knee, tilting her head just so as if she could predict the very trajectory of a wayward bullet. Three shots from three different weapons ricochet into the darkening alley, but it is Tony's that finds the mark first. And later, it would be Abby's ballistics that proved which bullet pierced his heart.

She touches Tony's hand briefly as they wait for the rest of their team. She tells him that he had no choice. He nods because he knows she is right. They have a job to do, after all.

Later. He'll mourn later when they're alone and she's there to ward off the monsters.

He can still hear the dogs barking in the distance.

And it's finally getting dark.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. Thoughts and comments are much appreciated.**


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